


Better

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blink and you’ll miss it watersports kink mention, M/M, Shiro is a big baby but he’s Keith’s big baby, Sick Fic, fluff!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 17:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19234057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Taking care of Shiro wasn’t an easy job, but Keith was never one to back down from a challenge.





	Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [espurri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/espurri/gifts).



“Please don't leave me.”

The wind howls and rattles the windows, rain bouncing like bullets off of the glass. Outside looks like misery personified, darkness surrounding them and lurking around every corner. Inside, wrapped up in three blankets, curled up on the far end of the couch, is a very pouty Shiro.

“Keith,” he whines, grey eyes pleading. “After everything we’ve been through, you're ending it like this?” He sounds utterly betrayed, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. His nose is red, his face is blotchy, and his body is completely indistinguishable from a big sack of potatoes.

Keith, standing above him with a large, empty bowl, gives him a deadpan stare. “We’re out of popcorn and I gotta piss.” He presses the back of his hand to Shiro’s forehead, frowning. He's still pretty warm, but he's no longer sweating through his shirts. “And you need more ginger ale.”

“We can skip the popcorn,” Shiro tries to convince him. “And I still have...a little ginger ale left.” They both look to his empty glass. Keith picks it up and walks past Shiro, stumbling when a strong hand grips his shirt.

“I still need to use the bathroom.”

Shiro purses his lips, turning his head to the side. “...do you? I can—“

Keith cuts him off with a flick to his ear. “I’ll be back in ten minutes tops, don't hurt yourself while i'm gone.” He drops a kiss to the top of his head before making a break for the kitchen. 

Takashi Shirogane was a wonderful juxtaposition of a person. He was strong, commanding, confident, and a total nightmare when sick. He turned needy and pouty, clinging to any part of Keith he could reach like a hazy koala, and became a stumbling, clumsy giant of a boyfriend. Keith adored him to pieces. Shiro spent so much of his time taking care of others, he deserved to be spoiled to hell and back. 

When Keith returns to the living room, soup, popcorn, and drinks on a tray, Shiro glares at him from his new position laying out across the couch. His blankets have shifted, none of them covering him entirely, and the remote control is all the way across the room by the television. Keith lifts a brow, trying not to show his amusement. “Are you proud of yourself?”

Shiro huffs, limbs too heavy to move. “You were taking too long.”

“So you ruined the cocoon I made out of protest?” Keith sets the tray on the coffee table and goes to retrieve the remote. Shiro groans as he sits up, the blanket covering his chest falling to the floor. He looks miserable, rubbing at a headache that starts in the bridge of his nose and radiates to the entirety of his brain. His mouth is cotton, and the dried sweat on his back has him shivering. He also maybe needs the bathroom, too.

“Will you carry me to the kitchen?” He asks, preparing to stand. “Or the plant by the front door.”

Keith shakes his head with a sigh. “Should've just gotten up when I did.”

“I didn't need to go then.”

“I don't believe that.”

Shiro whines and flops back against the couch, reaching up with heavy arms to make grabby motions towards Keith. “Please? My legs are jelly and if I go by myself I’ll fall in.” He eyes the bowl of soup and licks his dry lips, bending forward to pick it up. He doesn't bother with a spoon and carefully tips the bowl towards his mouth, gulping down the hot, delicious, chicken brothy goodness. He chews the soft noodles and drains the bowl eagerly, taking the cold glass that Keith presses into his hands. He drinks that too fast and hiccups and burps at the same time.

Keith snorts so hard he starts coughing, the sound mixing with Shiro’s uncontrollable gas. Shiro, giggling and coughing and only sort of dying, pulls him down and curls up around him, cheek squished to the top of his head. Keith picks up the fallen blanket and drapes it around the both of them, indulging Shiro for another hour while the food settles in his stomach. He feeds Shiro a few pieces of popcorn, not wanting to invite a sore throat along with the stuffy nose and death rattle cough he's been fighting for almost a week. Keith loses track of what they're watching, paying more attention to the pattern of Shiro’s breaths, the heat coming from his body. He had sweated through the sheets last night, tossing and turning through a fitful sleep. Neither of them slept well, but Keith was confident that the worst was over. Another day or two of tossing tissues into tiny trash cans, and things should be back to normal.

Until then though, Keith has a big baby to care for.

When it seems like Shiro is thirty seconds away from a nap that could last between forty minutes and five hours, Keith helps him stand and half carries him upstairs to the bathroom. He runs a hot bath, not satisfied with the temperature until it makes him flinch, then helps Shiro out of three day old clothes. The hot water makes Shiro hiss as he sinks down into it, but once submerged to his neck he closes his eyes and breathes in as well as he can. His airways have opened up just a bit, and Keith helps him blow his nose, smiles at the little wrinkle between Shiro’s brows that indicates his embarrassment.

“I'm a grown man,” he sighs, head hanging in defeat. “I should be able to take care of myself.”

Keith reaches for the shampoo and gets to work, massaging Shiro’s temples as he goes. Pride swells in his chest when, slowly, the pain and annoyance disappears from Shiro’s face. He gets like this when he's sick, all self deprecating and angry with his weakness. As if he doesn't give Keith the same treatment when he's under the weather. As if he doesnt deserve to be vulnerable. It breaks his heart every time, knowing that even if Shiro is physically resting, his mind is running marathons about what he can't do, what he needs to do, what he _could_ do if only he wasn't sick. It's why Keith makes the extra effort to keep his own emotions in check. Getting angry at Shiro’s self doubts won’t do anything besides put distance between them. He has to be the pillar that holds him up, the glue that keeps him from falling apart. Most people would hesitate to tell Shiro what to do, sick or not, but Keith considers it a privilege. Shiro trusts him enough to listen, to quiet his thoughts long enough for Keith’s words to override them.

“You're a grown man who works himself to death taking care of everyone else.” Keith kisses his forehead, the scar across his nose, his lips. “You're a grown man with a boyfriend who would treat you like this every day if he could. If you would let him.’

Shiro doesn't have anything to say to that, but he lets Keith rinse his hair, and he lets him dry him off. He puts on the soft sweatshirt and comfy lounge pants that Keith picks out for him. He feels less like death warmed over now that he's clean and wearing fresh clothes, and when he coughs there's significantly less pain involved. If there's work to do he can't remember what it is, and he has no desire to check his emails even though there must be a dozen or so waiting in his inbox. It's been a few days with no urgent calls, so he reasons they can wait a little longer.

They head back downstairs, and this time when Keith wraps him up like a burrito, Shiro nuzzles into his shoulder. He lets Keith clean up, and takes his medicine without complaint. When Keith returns, Shiro wiggles closer until he can successfully flop onto him. Keith curls his arms and legs around him, hiding his face in his hair, rubbing soothing circles into his neck with his thumb. Like this, surrounded by warmth, cradled in Keith’s arms, Shiro doesn't feel so useless. He doesn't feel like he's wasting time by being unproductive. He just feels…

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.’ 

_Better._


End file.
